


Absolution

by theundeadsiren (rhoen)



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War I, Hospitals, M/M, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-04-30 22:13:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5181617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhoen/pseuds/theundeadsiren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kieren, a newly trained orderly, meets Rick at the base hospital he's at while recovering from trench fever. It's hard to remain impassive and not form bonds, which is what makes it all the more difficult when Rick must return to the front line in preparation for a major offensive. As the war drags on, Kieren finds himself closer and closer to the front line, and exposed to horrors he can barely begin to comprehend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> dont-pull-the-spock-face-on-me requested that I post this, so here it is. It might be a little dry and boring, and any subsequent chapters are liable to be disturbing (because the whole topic is completely horrifying), but I hope someone enjoys it.
> 
> The title is taken from the poem of the same name by Siegfried Sassoon. It was that or '[Anthem for Doomed Youth](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/176831)' by Wilfred Owen (which is worth reading - it's short!).
> 
> I've done a lot of research on the topic (or tried to - there's next to nothing about medical orderlies, as they're sort of forgotten about in history), so perhaps I'll post all my references when I have access to the document they're in.
> 
> Things that might be relevant: conscription (mandatory military service) was brought in in 1916, when the number of men volunteering to go fight dwindled. Also, the attitude towards men not in uniform deteriorated as the war went on, and there was a very negative stigma around conscientious objectors ('conchies'). Orderlies also weren't particularly well thought of either, as they were non-combatants. Homosexuality was illegal.
> 
> I've taken liberties with Rick's regiment. He wouldn't have arrived in France until June 1916, but that didn't fit with what I wanted to write. It's also hard to find out exactly how the RAMC moved, so I've done the best I can with what little I know. Other than that (this is set at the end of April/early May), I've done my utmost to stick to facts, locations and dates, even if they're not specifically mentioned.
> 
> Don't worry too much about background characters. Philip and Amy will turn up in later chapters (if I get round to them), but for now it's just Rick and Kieren. Okay, I like Peter and his backstory (which probably won't make it, OCs are probably very annoying to read), but yeah... I'm typing too much junk here, sorry!
> 
> I've checked for errors, but some will have undoubtedly slipped through. I apologise in advance.

**You may not take this fic and edit or reupload it - in whole or in part - without my express permission. This includes translations.**

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Thank you for respecting my wishes.

* * *

 

What little Kieren had seen of the war so far wasn’t anything like the hell he’d expected, although he knew it wouldn’t be long before he experienced its full horrors. His training had been rushed, and it took just a few months before he found himself as an orderly with the Royal Army Medical Corps, and being sent to work in a base hospital in France, some miles behind the front line.

His training had passed quickly, each hastily rushed day merging with the next. It was only on the ship to France, surrounded by troops and supplies and watching the English coast disappear, that time seemed to catch up with him, and he paused in the brief calm before the storm to take stock of what was happening. He didn’t want to be doing this, but the war had dragged on for a year and a half now, and was slowly taking everything down with it. There was no way to escape – even women were doing war work – and as the threat of conscription loomed even larger, Kieren had known that he either made the choice himself, or someone would do it for him. Armed with just a first aid certificate, he’d volunteered under the Derby Scheme, and had returned home to his job as a shop assistant to await mobilisation orders. The only blessing in all this was that his sister was too young and his father too old to be conscripted. Ken Burton – a veteran of the Boer War whose unwillingness to speak of the horrors he saw, and the conditions which nearly claimed his life, spoke volumes – had agreed to let Jem take Kieren’s place in the shop, and Kieren had no doubt she’d prove herself. She was in safe hands. And now, with Kieren gone, there wouldn’t be any gossip or disapproving glances directed at the family whose able-bodied son hadn’t volunteered when nearly every other lad his age had done so back in 1914 or early 1915, when the height restrictions (which hadn’t barred Kieren, even when it stood at 5’6”) had been lowered even further, allowing for the creation of bantam battalions. People knew Kieren didn’t want to fight. They’d tarred him a coward for his objection to the war, and to conflict in general. Kieren could have lived with that, but he wasn’t sure his family could. It wasn’t fair that they had to, so Kieren had finally signed up, before the bureaucrats had a chance to snatch him away and force a gun into his hands.

Watching the last glimpse of England fade into the mist, Kieren wondered when he’d next be home. His own birthday had passed unmarked some five weeks past, save for two letters from home, and the leave he’d had before embarking for France had passed too quickly. All too soon, the warmth of home had been replaced with the cold call of duty, and as the ship pitched and rolled in the mild swells of the Channel, Kieren felt completely and utterly homesick.

The crossing was easy, and all too soon Kieren had to turn away from the direction of home and set about joining the rest of his unit. They were to travel some twenty-five miles inland to Saint Omer, and it soon became clear that every step of the way would be congested with traffic of all kinds. The port itself was a hive of military activity, the only difference being that on this side of the Channel the men waiting to embark were not fresh-faced and smartly dressed. They looked worn and weary, and there were a great number of casualties – some walking wounded, others on stretchers – who waited silently for their turn. Ammunition and animals were being unloaded and prepared for distribution, and as the RAMC moved out, so too did a shipment of supplies.

When they finally reached the hospital late in the day, Kieren wasn’t surprised to find that the orderlies were to be billeted in tents on the hospital grounds. The canvas quarters were minimal but functional, as most things for non-commissioned officers and other ranks invariably were. The beds were simply made, and there was modest storage space allocated to each orderly for personal things. Kieren unpacked quickly but carefully, aware of the fact he was to take dinner and then report to one of the wards as soon as he was done. He had no idea what to expect, and as he made sure his uniform was in place, he tried to remind himself that there was no point dwelling on what he couldn’t control. He struggled with his meagre meal, uncertainty and homesickness making him increasingly uneasy.

The ward he was directed to was on the ground floor of what was once a school. The classroom Kieren found himself in had been stripped bare and the space filled with beds: twenty in all. Three were empty. Some of the men lay groaning or murmuring to themselves, shifting fitfully, while others either sat or lay silently, two staff nurses moving amongst them. The men didn’t appear to have any physical wounds, but before Kieren could inspect them any closer, he was greeted by a stern looking Queen Alexandra’s Imperial Military Nursing Service nurse, whose two scarlet stripes identified her as a Nursing Sister. She gave him a depreciating glance.

“You’re one of the new orderlies, I presume?”

He didn’t have a chance to reply before she launched into an explanation of his duties.

“You’re to light the gas lamps in here, and then fetch food and hot drinks for these men. You will assist my nurses with the meals, and anything else they require. They ask, you do it. Sister Lloyd will be taking over in half an hour and it is her – and only her – who may authorise breaks or relieve you of your duties. Am I understood?”

“Yes, Sister,” Kieren nodded, finding the talking-to a little harsh. Seemingly finished, the woman stepped back, giving Kieren another judgmental look. She did nothing to stop him, though, so he moved into the ward itself, getting on with his job.

As he was fetching the last of the food, one of the staff nurses came over to collect a bowl of broth. Hands full, she nodded towards the bed where one of the men lay, seemingly still asleep.

“Would you mind helping Private Macy with his meal?”

Her tone couldn’t be more different from that of the Sister, and Kieren nodded at her request.

“Of course.”

“What’s–”

“Trench fever,” she supplied. Kieren nodded again. When he’d first walked in, he’d wondered if it was shell shock. It wasn’t that he was afraid of the new mental sickness; more that he was uneasy at the idea of the incurable suffering. It was a subject that had been hastily glanced over in his training, and had been described by an ageing Lieutenant-Colonel as ‘an affliction of cowardice’. Kieren had been forced to repress a snort of indignation. Suffering from a breakdown after exposure to warfare seemed quite rational to him.

“I’m Nurse Harbridge, by the way,” the nurse continued in a soft tone. Kieren gave her a smile, and when she returned it, he noted that she was a modestly pretty young woman.

“Kieren Walker,” he replied, grateful for her welcoming attitude. “I’ll, um…”

He indicated back to the patient, and they both got on with their duties. Nurse Harbridge went to the opposite side of the room, leaving Kieren to approach his patient – Private Macy – alone, and a little uncertainly. Helping with meals was more of a nursing job, and while it was preferable to a lot of other chores he might have been sent to do, Kieren was still unsure of himself. Setting the bowl down on the small bedside table, he regarded the young man lying before him. He looked feverish and exhausted, and it made Kieren hesitate to wake him. He had to, though, and he tentatively reached out and touched the guy’s shoulder.

“Come on, private,” he encouraged. “It’s supper time.”

The guy groaned and shifted, rolling away from Kieren. A second later, he shifted again, drawing his knees to his chest and whimpering, this time clearly in discomfort as he started to wake.

“Would you like a hand to sit up?” Kieren offered.

Private Macy slowly looked round, bleary eyes meeting Kieren’s. He blinked, seeming confused by his surroundings. With difficulty, he wet his lips.

“Do I have to eat?”

His voice was thin and rasping, Kieren noted, and he had an unmistakeable Lancastrian accent.

“Yes. Would you like a glass of water first?”

Clearly giving up on his own voice, the guy nodded. Kieren quickly left to fetch a glass of water, which he knew from his own meal earlier was treated with chlorine, and when he returned, Macy was struggling to sit up on his own. Kieren set the tumbler aside, helping him until the young man was in a passable seated position, the pillow helping to prop him up. With the covers fallen away, Kieren could see a rash at the opening of the Private Macy’s clothes, and he seemed to be shivering slightly despite the thin sheen of sweat clinging to his skin. With difficulty, he slowly sipped at the water Kieren passed to him, and then handed the glass back when it was empty, seemingly exhausted by the effort it took.

“Let me help,” Kieren said firmly. The bowl of broth was heavier than the glass of water, and he didn’t want it spilt all over the bed. Perching himself at the edge of the mattress, he took the hot bowl in hand and stirred it.

“I can…”

Kieren let him. Slowly, a trembling hand took the spoon from the bowl Kieren still held, scooping up some of the liquid and successfully delivered it to the guy’s mouth – which Kieren was impressed by, as the guy’s shivering seemed worse and his hand a little more unsteady. On the second mouthful, Kieren heard the metal of the spoon clattering against the Macy’s teeth, and despite the obvious flush of heat, tired eyes closed against a strong wave of shivers.

“I don’t want…” he complained hoarsely.

“You’re doing well,” Kieren encouraged. After a moment, it became clear that Private Macy wasn’t going to take another mouthful on his own, so Kieren gently made to take the spoon, for a moment feeling the heat of the guy’s skin against his own.

“Let me?”

This time, he did. He’d slumped a little more, and crossed his arms against his chest as if to hold himself together as soon as Kieren took the spoon. He took the offered mouthful, swallowing with another shiver despite the fact even more colour rose in his skin.

“Sorry I had to wake you,” Kieren said softly, not wanting his words to carry to the next bed where another man was managing the meal perfectly well on his own.

“'S okay,” the guy slurred, turning his head away to indicate he wasn’t quite ready for another mouthful. Kieren returned the spoon to the bowl, giving him a moment. He couldn’t think of anything else to say, so waited. Eventually accepting more food, Macy looked at him as he swallowed.

“Are you new here?”

Kieren nodded, looking down and focusing on gathering another spoonful. The intense gaze made him feel uncomfortable, although he couldn’t say why.

“You’re very pretty.”

Colour instantly rose in Kieren’s cheeks, almost matching that of the patient’s, and although he knew the guy’s voice was too soft to have carried far, he was afraid that someone might have overheard. He glanced behind himself quickly, taking note of where the nurses were in the room. They were still occupied.

“Although I think I’m…” The guy frowned at his own words, and shivered more violently. “Oh God,” he whimpered.

There were beads of sweat forming on his brow, and Kieren put the broth back on the bedside table, thinking that getting the guy to eat perhaps wasn’t such a priority right now.

“Sit back and I’ll fetch a nurse,” he said, standing up.

“No, I’m okay,” the guy insisted. He didn’t look it, and another convulsive shiver took him over, making him groan in discomfort. “I’ll be… fine…”

Kieren didn’t believe him. Macy tried to slide down in the bed and curl up, too feverish to know if he wanted to wrap himself in the covers or kick them away. Kieren made the decision for him, helping position the pillow under his head and then tugging the blanket away from his torso.

“I’ll just be a moment,” Kieren promised. With the pained noises Private Macy was now making, Kieren wasn’t sure if he’d even heard him, so quickly traversed the room, pulling up alongside Nurse Harbridge who was helping another man with a glass of water.

“Nurse?” he asked tentatively.

She looked up at him inquisitively. “What is it?”

“It’s Private Macy. He’s feverish.”

It sounded stupid once he’d said it – the ward was occupied by seventeen men suffering from trench fever – but if Nurse Harbridge thought it a peculiar statement, she didn’t show it.

“Collect the empty dishes from the patients who are finished. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Kieren nodded, and did his task. Stacking up the bowls, he couldn’t help glancing toward Private Macy’s bed, where the young man was now shifting in a manner that was almost writhing. Some other men were clearly feverish and sick, but none were as bad as the man Kieren had just been helping.

When Nurse Harbridge went to Private Macy’s side, she called for Kieren.

“Fetch me a large basin of cold water and some cloths,” she instructed. He did so quickly, using a wheeled table to position the basin close to the bed. Once it was in reach, Nurse Harbridge took a cloth and wet it, using it to sponge Macy’s forehead.

“Is he okay?” Kieren asked quietly, alarmed at how quickly the young man had gone from being able to converse to a shivering, sweating mess moaning in discomfort.

“He’s relapsing, but he’ll be fine. If we can bring his temperature down hopefully he won’t become too delirious.”

“Should I…?”

Nurse Harbridge shook her head. “No, thank you. Please see if Nurse Emmison needs anything.”

Kieren hesitated for the briefest of moments, his gaze drawn to the deteriorating young man whose closed eyes flickered restlessly beneath their lids and parched lips moved to form silent words, punctuated by gasps and moans of discomfort as he shifted agitatedly. Feeling rather useless, Kieren did as he was instructed and went to see if he could help the other nurse working in the ward – Sister Lloyd had replaced the Sister who had greeted Kieren, but so far the woman hadn’t paid Kieren much attention, so he didn’t approach her.

-

Six hours later, Kieren was exhausted. He’d travelled all through the day and worked long into the night, and was in desperate need of a break. It was a little after two in the morning, and about half the men in the ward were quietly sleeping. Some patients, like Private Macy, were restless, their fever and pains keeping them awake or causing them to toss and groan in discomfort. They needed to be watched, watered, and kept cool. The overnight staff on the ward had been reduced to Sister Lloyd, Nurse Kettering who had relieved Nurses Harbridge and Emmison, and Kieren.

When Sister Lloyd finally relieved him, Kieren made his way to the mess tent, intent on finding a hot drink and something to eat. The bread he found was a little stale, and the broth – which was probably from the same batch cooked for the patients earlier – bland, but it filled him up sufficiently. Although he’d eaten hastily, Kieren took his time with his tea.

“Rough night?”

Kieren looked up, startled, as another orderly approached the table and sat down opposite him. He looked pale and a little shaky, and Kieren recognised him from training as a rather reserved young man with a strong Scouse accent, but couldn’t quite remember the guy’s name. They hadn’t had much cause to exchange more than a few words before, but in the sparsely populated mess tent hundreds of miles from home, company was company.

“It could be worse,” Kieren said with a small shrug. “Fever ward. How about you?”

“Wounds.” The guy pulled a face, looking down at the mug of chlorinated tea he’d procured, contemplating it.

“Bad?”

“Bad.”

Silence fell for a moment, in which both of them were lost in thought.

“It’s Kieren Walker, isn’t it?”

Kieren nodded, holding his hand out in formal greeting. “And … Paul…?”

“Peter. Peter Owen.”

Hoping his embarrassment at getting Peter’s name wrong didn’t show, Kieren gave a firm handshake, noting that Peter was trembling slightly, his hand cold and pink from a recent scrubbing. The lingering scent of Daken’s Solution clung to his clothes, and Kieren tried not to imagine what Peter might have been thrown into on his first day. It wasn’t a topic he wanted to bring up, so he searched for something else to remark upon.

“Liverpool, right?”

Peter nodded. “Born and bred. You?”

“Roarton.”

The small village’s name drew a blank, as Kieren knew it would.

“Can’t say I know of it. Manchester?”

“Not quite. North Lancashire. Too small to know unless you were unfortunate enough to be born there.”

Peter gave a small smile. “You miss it, though?”

Kieren looked down, the homesickness that work had displaced resurfacing. His voice was strained as he answered. “Yeah.”

“I know the feeling,” Peter sympathised. He seemed calmer now, colour returning to his cheeks. “You from a mining family?”

Kieren shook his head, then held his arms out to each side with a wry smile, highlighting his height and awkwardly long limbs. “No, thank God. Imagine trying to fit me down a mine shaft.”

“Thin enough, though.”

“Just useless at moving horizontally.”

They both shared a small smile, before Kieren took another sip of tea, trying to recall what little he knew of Liverpool.

“What about you? Did you work in shipping?”

“I did some work at the docks, actually, whenever there was any,” Peter shrugged. “I never went to sea, though. Couldn’t stand the thought of it.”

Kieren hummed in agreement, remembering the sailing across the Channel. It hadn’t been bad, and perhaps sailors got used to rough weather, but he much preferred having solid ground beneath his feet. “It’s not for everyone.”

“No,” Peter agreed sombrely, staring off into the distance. A lot of things went unsaid in that moment, and Kieren wondered what they were on Peter’s part. For his own, he doubted that there were many people in this day and age who found themselves doing a job they could stomach. Very few had any choice in the matter, and those that did had little to pick between.

Kieren focused on his tea, trying to push those thoughts from his mind. They weren’t welcome, and would win him no friends. Realising he’d almost finished his drink, he swilled the last of it and knocked it back in one slightly difficult gulp. He’d probably been gone from the ward too long.

“I really should be getting back,” he sighed, observing that Peter had been too distracted to notice the silence that had settled over them. “It was nice to bump into you though. Perhaps we’ll see each other again in the next few days.”

Attention back on the conversation, Peter looked almost sorry that Kieren had to go. Nonetheless, he gave the slightest of smiles, possibly too tired to manage anything more than that. “Likewise,” he agreed. “And l hope we do. Good night.”

“Good night, Peter.”

The cool air as he made his way back to the ward helped combat the sleepiness that had crept into Kieren’s veins with the food and warm drink, and with his only detour being to the latrines, he found himself back at the ward just a few minutes after leaving Peter. He didn’t particularly want close friends, and there wouldn’t be much time for socialising, but Peter seemed nice enough. A friend or two wouldn’t be a bad thing.

When Sister Lloyd saw him, she got up from the side of the patient she was tending and approached Kieren, keeping her voice low. “Orderly, please take over for Nurse Kettering so that she might take some rest.”

“Yes, Sister,” Kieren nodded, relieved that the length of his break hadn’t warranted a reprimand. Nurse Kettering looked up as he approached.

“Yes?”

Her tone was sharp, and it was clear that she had as little time for Kieren as the first Sister he’d met.

“Uhm, your break…?” Kieren wasn’t sure how long ‘some rest’ was for nurses – perhaps Nurse Kettering was being relieved for the night, he thought in a moment of panic. Four men currently needed close attention, and he didn’t feel qualified for the task, even though it only required frequent sponge baths or the changing of the damp cloths being used to try and reduce the fever.

Nurse Kettering closed her eyes briefly, seemingly relieved, and then got up. Without another word, she made her way from the ward, leaving Kieren standing next to the patient.

-

When Kieren reached Private Macy, he was still incredibly feverish and the cloth against his forehead was almost dry. As carefully as he had done with the other two men he’d seen to, Kieren sat him up so he could remove his tunic, finding the way the material stuck to Macy’s damp skin frustrating. The guy made some semblance of an effort to help, but he was too weak to be useful, and kept groaning in pain and discomfort, his eyes remaining closed as he allowed Kieren to carefully handle him. Starting with his limbs, Kieren gently sponged at the heated skin, noticing that Macy was past shivering now. He didn’t know if that was a good thing.

Kieren needed the guy to sit up, and set the sponges aside as he moved to a better position to assist. “I need you to sit up again,” he said softly. Macy whimpered, but shifted, and with Kieren’s help was soon sitting up and leaning forward, allowing Kieren to sponge down the skin on his back. It wasn’t as red as the rash on his chest, but still looked sore. Kieren wondered if there was some topical cream he hadn’t yet been told about that he was supposed to apply.

As he moved to wet the sponge again, a hand suddenly closed around his wrist, drawing Kieren’s attention back to the sickly young man. Slightly started, Kieren looked closely at Macy, trying to work out what the matter was, and if the trembling was from exertion or shivering.

“It’ll be done in a minute,” Kieren promised, guessing at what was bothering the young man. The attempt to control the fever had to feel unpleasant.

He was surprised even further when Private Macy made a concerted effort to look up, his exhausted gaze meeting Kieren’s startled one. The redness of the skin around his eyes brought out the soft hazel tones, and for a moment Kieren couldn’t focus on anything other than Macy’s gaze and feeling of flushed skin weakly gripping his wrist.

For a long moment they remained like that, until it became clear that Macy wasn’t able to find the words he wanted.

“What is it?” Kieren asked gently, slowly sitting on the edge of the mattress. When he wasn’t answered, he reached for the basin of water with one hand, wetting and wringing out a sponge with difficulty. The grip on his wrist faded, but rather than letting go completely, Private Macy held onto Kieren’s hand. Kieren let him, but when looked back round at him, the guy’s gaze lowered quickly, as if he understood the weakness he was displaying.

“I’m just going to finish this and then we can get you dressed and watered,” Kieren continued, one-handedly dabbing at the skin between Rick’s neck and shoulder, his attention fully on the task and not the confused young man now breathing shallowly to try and combat the discomfort he felt.

“There,” he said firmly as he finished, turning away to place the sponge next to the basin and recover Private Macy’s tunic from where he’d loosely folded it. “Now for your clothes.”

It was harder putting the garment back on, but Kieren managed without causing too much damage. Macy had let go of his hand with some reluctance, so when Kieren was done dressing him, he moved out of reach to take the glass of water from the bedside table before he could be grasped again. Not that he particularly minded – it as just that he didn’t want the guy to cling to him and get in the way of what he was supposed to be doing.

When Kieren helped Macy to drink, the heated skin that came to rest over his hand contrasted starkly with the cool glass of the tumbler he held, but Kieren didn’t push him away. Instead, he let the touch tell him when the guy had had enough, and lowered the glass. Not much had been consumed, and after a few moments pause, Kieren lifted the glass again. It was refused. After waiting another minute or so, Kieren felt the hand against his give a flicker of movement, and this time when he offered the water, the young man drank. Slowly, over the course of a few minutes, the glass was almost completely finished, and when Kieren’s hand was pushed weakly but firmly away he put the tumbler back on the small table.

All that was left to do before moving onto the next patient was to help the guy settle down again, and to place a damp cloth across his brow. The complaining moans and restless movements had lessened considerably in Kieren’s company, but as Kieren placed the damp cloth and started to draw away, Macy reached frantically after him, the back of his hand crashing into Kieren’s wrist before he managed to grasp feebly at Kieren’s hand. Kieren hesitated, about to explain that he had to move on to the next patient, when the way Macy looked up at him stopped him short.

Kieren didn’t understand why the guy didn’t speak, but the way he looked at Kieren and weakly squeezed his hand, accompanied with a small smile, seemed to say ‘thank you’.

“I’ll be back soon,” he promised, finally finding his tongue again. He gently returned Macy’s hand to his side. “Rest, okay?”

Private Macy didn’t answer. His eyes had fallen closed, and he seemed to be already asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Un-beta'd.
> 
> This wouldn't have seen the light of day if it weren't for the two lovely comments left on the first chapter. Thank you so much to Furious_Winter and Sirenren. this one, should you want it, is for you.
> 
> I hadn't intended to leave it where I did, and wanted to get a little further on in the story, but it didn't quite happen that way, I'm sorry.

For the next two nights, Kieren worked in the trench fever ward. Sister Lloyd was patient with him, and although she didn’t exactly smile in greeting when she saw him each night, she did give a small nod in acknowledgement of his presence. Nurse Kettering, on the other hand, was unhelpful and wilfully intolerant of his being there. Kieren didn’t particularly mind the indifference towards his existence, as he knew that he was just there to make the nurses’ jobs easier – any lifting, fetching, carrying, cleaning, sorting, or other menial chores were delegated to him – but what he found difficult to remain impartial to was the manner in which she addressed him. It was impersonal and thoroughly dismissive. He knew he was beneath her – in rank as well as social class – but he didn’t think that was a valid reason to be treated as no better than a piece of furniture. Even in her handling of patients her sour personality showed through. She wasn’t particularly unkind, but to Kieren it was abundantly clear that she would rather be assisting in an officer’s ward. She was never unfair in her administration of treatment, but there was an impenetrable wall around her which prevented interaction beyond the bare minimum required for her job. Kieren thought it must be tiring to be so thorny.

Sleeping after his first shift was less of a problem than Kieren thought it might be. Despite the daylight and the constant background noise of the hospital, he didn’t rouse until three in the afternoon. Peter, who Kieren presumed had had a far more taxing first night, was there when he woke, sitting on the edge of his own bed, staring down at a letter. He looked exhausted, and blearily looked up at Kieren when he stirred, his eyes red from tiredness or perhaps even tears. Kieren couldn’t tell, and didn’t pry. He just gave an uncertain smile, which was returned with some effort.

“You eaten?” Kieren asked.

Peter shook his head. “I didn’t wake feeling particularly hungry.”

Kieren made a noncommittal noise, taking in the sounds coming from outside the tent. As he pushed the covers away and grabbed his wash things, grateful for the fact it was spring and not winter, he couldn’t help thinking of home. They hadn’t been in France long enough for any post to find them – the letter Peter held must have been received prior to their deployment – and while the environment was not entirely dissimilar to that in which he’d trained, there was something undeniably different in the air, and it made the distance between where Kieren was and home seen infinite. He longed for something to bridge the chasm, as he was sure Peter did. He wondered who Peter had left behind. He’d not mentioned his family, and if he had any siblings, or even a sweetheart.

Standing, he found Peter joining him, and they made their way from the tent in silence. Kieren’s last thoughts before falling asleep had been with his family, and with Jem, who would have started her day as he finished his. As he washed and shaved, Kieren thoughts turned to them again, as well as to the shop, old Ken Burton, and the daily chores his little sister would be performing. He thought about the lanes between the shop and home; the way the cobbles on the main street had sagged into the earth after decades of passing carts and feet; and about the bursts of colour that always appeared at this time of year, offering welcome vibrancy as the cold grey pallor of winter receded. Everything seemed so much more concentrated in his memory, and so far removed from the shadow cast by the tempestuous cloud now squatting over Europe, darkening everything beneath it.

As he regarded himself in the rather grimy mirror suspended from a wire, Kieren wondered what his parents thought of him, and if they missed him as much as he missed them. Did they truly realise what Kieren have entered into? Outwardly, they were nothing but proud and supportive, but he couldn’t help wondering if they wished he’d been more like the rest of the young men from the village. Would it be easier for them to hold their heads up high if he were an infantryman rather than an orderly, and dealt with bullets rather than bandages? There was glory to be had if you were a regular soldier, but none to be found in the occupation Kieren had chosen.

-

After what he and Peter termed to be an ‘afternoon breakfast’, Kieren returned to their tent and wrote home after resorting his things. There wasn’t much besides his uniform, but he took his time, slowly fingering the letters and the books he’d brought with him. He’d always loved ‘The Happy Prince and Other Tales’, and the copy he had was well read, but ‘The Time Machine’ was new, it’s simple red cover completely unblemished. It has been a birthday present and leaving gift from his sister, and inside the cover she’d simply written: ‘Kier, come home safely. All my love, Jem.’ From his parents, he’d received a pocket watch, which he didn’t dare to use, and a writing set. It seemed a shame not to use the watch, but he knew he’d feel worse if it was ever lost or damaged.

Using the pen and paper gifted to him, Kieren sat down and composed a short, simple letter. Other than stating that he’d arrived safely after a long journey, there wasn’t much to remark upon, and Kieren kept the correspondence as conversational as possible, asking how the day-to-day running of the house was going, and how Jem was finding work, before running out of things to ask or say. It was enough, though, and before his shift he went to post it.

The second shift seemed somehow longer than the first. One of the men was so delirious he kept crying out in alarm and shouting warnings of dangers that weren’t there. With Kieren helping to keep him still, Sister Lloyd administered a sedative, which wore off after a few hours and had to be given again, this time in a stronger dose. Shortly before dawn he’d stirred again, although the first sound he made were pathetic cries far less disruptive than his earlier outbursts, so he hadn’t been sedated again. Nevertheless, he still disturbed those around him for the third time in seven hours, resulting in a ward of tired, fed up men. They were all at varying stages of the illness, but needed rest.

Nurse Kettering had been absent, which added to Kieren’s workload. There had always been something needing done five minutes before he was free to do it, and when Sister Lloyd had given him a break just after midnight, he’d not been able to savour it. A hastily rushed meal of cold vegetables and too-salty mince sat heavily in his stomach as he made his way back to the ward, acutely aware of all the things still to be done. He was relieved to find that he wasn’t left alone when Sister Lloyd took her break, as a staff nurse from another ward was drafted in to supervise him. It wasn’t that keeping the most feverish men as comfortable as possible was particularly difficult and required a watchful eye, but Kieren definitely felt better with someone else there.

Private Macy was one of the men still suffering badly. His temperature was worse than the previous night, at a little under 104°, and the pain in his lower legs so severe that a frame had been put in place to keep the covers from touching them. Even when he was awake he didn’t open his eyes. He could barely move, and his clothing and bedding was soaked through with sweat, but each time Kieren approached, gently greeting him, Private Macy reached out blindly for his hand – his left hand. It took until the third time Macy did it, dropping Kieren’s right hand in the one instance it was given, before Kieren realised what he was doing: to the side of his index knuckle, on the skin between his finger and thumb, was a scar. He’d been careless with his handling of goods in the shop one day, and the resulting cut had been so deep it left a permanent indentation where it scarred. It was an injury some four years old, and Kieren had barely paid it any mind until Macy’s thumb traced over it, the oddly intimate act stirring up a confusing mixture of emotions. It wasn’t until a little while later that he could guess as to why Macy did it. Kieren had been returning to the ward after fetching a basin of fresh water, when he saw the guy reaching out into empty air, trying to grasp at something that wasn’t there. Trying to grasp for _him_ , Kieren realised. He was nowhere near, and hadn’t uttered a word, but Macy had still thought he was there.

He’d told Sister Lloyd, who had nodded, but seemed unconcerned and attributed the action to delirium. Despite the reassurance she’d given him, Kieren saw her cross to Macy’s bed a few minutes later, checking his vitals. Whatever she found, it obviously didn’t give cause for concern, and the next time she was in close proximity to Kieren, she again reassured him that the guy was just delirious and would be better in a few days.

It was a rush to make sure that everything was as clean as possible and in place for the nurses who would take over for the day shift, and by the time he was relieved, Kieren was exhausted. He’d hesitated before leaving the ward, and, feeling a little unsure of himself, had approached Macy’s bed. He offered his hand before it was grasped at, and sat carefully on the edge of the bed.

“My shift’s done,” he explained. “But I’ll see you this evening, yeah?”

Macy feebly squeezed his hand in what Kieren took to be understanding, and then let go.

“Feel better,” Kieren added rather lamely. He was almost startled when he received a response.

“Thank you.”

Private Macy’s voice was thin and strained, leaving his cracked lips with difficulty, but it made Kieren glad that he’d bothered. After a moment of waiting it because clear that there was nothing more to say, so he slowly stood and made his way from the ward, giving a parting wave and few words to the men well enough to sit up and call out to him as he left.

Before returning to the tent, Kieren found some food – a rather stodgy helping of porridge, and an apple – and filled a steaming cup of tea to take with him. As he pushed his way into the tent, he found two men already sleeping, and Peter sitting hunched over on the end of his own bed, rubbing at his hands.

“Hey,” Kieren greeted. Peter jumped, looking up. He seemed beyond exhausted, and had only partly undressed himself. “When’d you get off?”

“Oh, uh, about half an hour ago?”

Peter shifted, seeming to remember the task he’d been in the middle of before becoming distracted. For a minute the tent was silent as Peter finished changing and Kieren sipped his tea, feeling exhaustion starting to claim him. When he finished the mug and started changing himself, his movements were sluggish and clumsy.

“I wonder if it gets any easier?” Peter asked, already under the covers.

Kieren’s mind was slow to find a response. “It will,” he said with more confidence than he felt. He knew it was a lie, and knew that Peter knew it was a lie, but what else could he say – that no, this was just the start, and from here on in it could only get worse? It could certainly only get worse for Kieren, whose greatest hardship so far had been emptying out bedpans.

“Hope so,” Peter mumbled, sounding asleep already. Kieren slid under his blankets, and, deciding he was too tired and that Peter’s response didn’t require anything further on his part, pulled them up over his head to block out the invasive daylight.

-

Nurse Kettering was present again on the third night, and did her utmost to ignore Kieren. Kieren didn’t know where she’d been the previous night, and he wasn’t about to ask. He guessed that the arrival of new men from the RAMC had allowed the nurses and staff already at the hospital to take a day off from their duties, but he didn’t need to know if that was the case, so simply got on with his job without bothering anyone.

Two new arrivals meant that the ward was almost full, and both men were gripped by an alarmingly high fever, their bodies plagued by the aches and pains common with the ailment. One was so severely photophobic that a blindfold had to be placed across his eyes to alleviate the distress caused by the light, which still troubled him once night had fallen and the lighting in the room was low at best. Those who were well enough to be out of bed were, and when Kieren arrived five men were gathered around a small table, playing a game of cards. Nurse Kettering kept throwing them filthy glances, clearly disapproving of the fact they were gambling cigarettes – or perhaps just existing, Kieren wasn’t sure – but Kieren smiled and gave a friendly ‘next time, perhaps’ when he was invited to join in.

Private Macy was much the same as the previous night, although when Kieren gave him a sponge bath to help control his temperature, he noticed that the rash covering Macy’s chest and back seemed better. The guy had also opened his eyes – something which clearly caused discomfort – when Kieren greeted him, and gave a weak smile.

“Hello again,” he’d said.

“Hello yourself,” Kieren smiled. “Not been causing too much havoc while I’ve been away?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Macy said with another feeble smile. “Saving all the fun for you.”

It was the most Kieren had ever heard him say, although it was clearly taking a lot of energy to find and form the words.

“I’m sorry, could I trouble you for some water?”

“Of course,” Kieren nodded, already reaching for the nearly full glass resting on the bedside table. He helped Macy sit upright, doing his utmost not to be affected by the noises of pain and discomfort the guy was unable to help making, and once the first glass was greedily drained, he went to fetch another. That too was finished, but as he went to get a third, Macy lay back down, clearly having had enough.

“Thanks,” he breathed, eyes firmly closed again.

“I’ll be back soon with your meal,” Kieren promised. He didn’t get a response. Setting the glass carefully back on the table, he went to see to his next task.

-

Kieren was just fetching the last of the food for the ward when Nurse Kettering, who had been absent for the last ten minutes, returned. She approached him directly, and the satisfied smile on her face gave him a sense of foreboding.

“You’re to report to the sluice room immediately,” she said, clearly happy about it. Kieren glanced around for Sister Lloyd, but she was nowhere to be seen.

“Yes, Nurse,” he said in resignation, wondering if he should ignore Nurse Kettering and wait until Sister Lloyd okayed the order. But then again, he didn’t know how long she would be, and had absolutely no desire to get into trouble. Making sure the plates of food were safely placed on the wheeled table, he left the ward.

The sluice room was towards the back of the hospital, and Kieren pushed the door open a little timidly, unsure of what he was doing there. The room itself had an offensive smell – a mixture of waste and disinfectant – which contrasted with the welcoming amount of light illuminating the space. A Staff Nurse was in the room, working away at one of the sinks, and turned at his presence.

“Can I help?”

“I was asked to come here?” Kieren explained, still not entirely sure why he’d been sent to the sluice room, although he could make an educated guess. The nurse gave a heavy sigh, abandoning her task.

“All those over there need cleaned,” she said, pointing at a stack of bedpans, dishes, and basins. “Once you are done, store them – _neatly_ – in the stock room. Understood?”

Most nurses seemed to think of orderlies as simpletons, Kieren realised. Or maybe he just had bad luck with the ones he encountered. Dutifully, he nodded. “Yes, Nurse.”

Barely five seconds later, he was alone. Sighing, Kieren got on with it, starting with the bedpan the nurse had abandoned and wondering how long he’d have to do this.

It was a little over half an hour later when someone came into the room. Kieren wasn’t even halfway done with the chore, but turned round to find a rather harassed looking Sister Lloyd looking at him.

“There you are!”

He wasn’t sure what to say. “I, uh, was told to come here.”

Sister Lloyd shook her head a little. “Next time, check with me first, unless the situation requires immediate action and I cannot be found.”

It seemed to Kieren that she wasn’t particularly annoyed with him, and for a moment as she regarded him she seemed weary, and several years older.

“Come on,” she said gently. “I need you back on the ward.”

Kieren scrubbed his hands and forearms thoroughly, and then followed without comment. Sister Lloyd didn’t say anything until they were a few yards from the ward. She stopped abruptly and turned, startling Kieren, who almost walked right into her.

“Sorry, Sister,” he rushed.

Sister Lloyd shook her head, dismissing his apology. “You’re a great asset, Orderly. Please remain so.”

Kieren was taken aback. He didn’t know exactly what she meant, or how to respond. For a second longer her gaze was on him, and just as Kieren realised there was fondness there, she turned away. He felt a little dazed, and it took a moment before his mind caught up with the fact he was supposed to be following her. Sister Lloyd didn’t think much of Nurse Kettering’s attitude, Kieren understood, but the camaraderie between nurses prevented her from saying so.

He was just in time to clear away the dishes. Fresh pitchers of water also needed to be fetched, but Kieren didn’t mind. It gave him a chance to move between the beds, exchanging a few words with the men as he did. Bates offered him some cigarettes, having won more than he needed in the game of cards, Smithson griped loudly about cheating Mancs, and Willis, who missed nothing, lowered his voice and muttered sympathetically to Kieren, unequivocally dismissing Nurse Kettering as a frigid bint. Kieren pressed his lips together, grateful for the support but knowing he shouldn’t react and encourage such things, even if the delivery was somewhat amusing.

Willis shook his head sombrely. “I’d rather have you wipe my arse than her. Bitch might give me frostbite.”

“I’m sure she’s all right,” Kieren shrugged, placing the glass of water in Willis’ outstretched hand. He had no desire to fuel animosity. The guy raised his eyebrow at Kieren, clearly not agreeing.

“You’re clearly too nice for your own good,” he muttered, taking a tentative sip and pulling a face. “Goddamn chlorine.”

Kieren gave a wry smile and started moving on. “I’ll put a bucket out for you if it rains.”

-

The sky outside was pitch black by the time Kieren spoke to Private Macy again. Most men had settled down to sleep as best they could: the photophobic man who had arrived on the ward earlier in the day was groaning and whimpering in discomfort, and the disruptive man from last night called out intermittently, his warnings slurred and panicked but still anxiety inducing. A doctor came to see him, but obviously didn’t think he needed to be moved to another ward. Sedatives were given, and a close watch kept.

Private Macy was quiet, and still feverish. He shivered and sweated, drawing in on himself as much as he could. Nurse Kettering had helped him with his meal and water, and Kieren carefully pushed the refilled glass aside as he placed a fresh change of clothes Sister Lloyd had given him on the small table. The basin, cloths and sponges were close at hand, and he greeted Macy quietly.

“Hello again.”

Macy stirred, opening his eyes and looking up, jaw clenched against fierce shivers and eyes red-rimmed and sore. Kieren already held his left hand out. The skin that grasped at it was clammy, the grip weak as the identifying scar was shakily traced.

“Hey,” Macy croaked. His hold quickly exhausted and his hand retreated to his chest.

“I’ve got a change of clothes for you,” Kieren said, hoping Macy had enough energy to be useful. “Need a hand?”

Feebly, Macy started to sit up, trying to unbutton the fastenings on his tunic. He was shivering almost violently, and his hands were uncooperative. Intervening, Kieren gently pushed Macy’s hands aside so he could work the garment off. He didn’t entirely get the point in giving the young man fresh clothing – especially not when he’d sweat through it in five minutes, and the bed linen wouldn’t be changed until the morning – but supposed that even a few minutes of feeling fresh and free from stagnant sweat would be a welcome relief. Diligently, he helped the guy undress, bathed him, and then worked the freshly laundered clothing onto his shivering frame. Dealing with a naked man wasn’t something Kieren was fazed by, but when his meticulous attention had passed over Private Macy’s genitals, he’d been aware of an uncomfortable shift in the young man, and glancing up had seen his chest, neck and cheeks flush in a way that had nothing to do with fever and everything to do with the involuntary way the young man’s body was reacting. It had made Kieren uncertain of himself for a moment, before he’d forced himself to banish any thoughts and continue with his job. Once Macy was fully clothed, he’d arranged the bedcovers as neatly as he could for him, avoiding looking directly at the guy until he had to.

“Would you prefer it if one of the nurses saw to you?”

Kieren didn’t know if that would help or exacerbate the problem, but offered anyway to try and alleviate any discomfort or embarrassment. He wasn’t sure what answer to expect, but when Macy eventually nodded, he felt rather disappointed and somewhat useless and incompetent. He’d no doubt feel the same in Macy’s situation – a professional nurse was probably easier to cope with than a barely trained orderly – but it still stung.

“I’ll let Sister Lloyd know,” Kieren nodded, wetting a cloth and wringing it out before placing it gently on Macy’s brow. The guy sighed gratefully, relaxing into the pillow. He opened his eyes, looking up at Kieren.

“Could you read something for me?”

The request made Kieren hesitate, uncertain as to what to do. Macy’s arm twisted as he reached for the bedside table, trying to pull open the wonky drawer.

“I, um...”

At the sight of Macy reaching up awkwardly and disrupting the neatness of the bed Kieren had made around him, Kieren reached forward, carefully opening the precariously held drawer. Inside were a few personal things: a comb, cigarettes, a box of matches, a battered copy of the Bible, and a few letters. Kieren took the uppermost, showing it to the guy.

“This one?”

A small nod. Kieren looked down at the letter, and the neat writing on the front addressed to a ‘22164 Pte R. W. Macy’. It had already been opened, and probably read. Glancing one more at Private Macy, he took the rough paper from the envelope and sat carefully on the very edge of the bed. Macy closed his eyes again, his shivering having returned, and held his hands close to his chest as he waited for Kieren to read.

Unfolding it, Kieren was grateful to find a florid but legible hand.

_“My handsome man,”_ he started, keeping his voice soft in attempt to stop it from travelling. _“I hope you are feeling much better now that you are at a bigger hospital. It would have been so wonderful to see you if you had been sent home to recover, but I shall be grateful that your illness is not so grave as to warrant such a journey. I have looked at one of the maps in Mrs Tuncliffe-Wilson’s library, and the distance is incredible – even London is so far away. You must tell me about everything that you have seen when you return home, for you must be having such adventures over there._

_“I am sorry to have to tell you that your father has been unwell lately, but it is nothing serious. His lungs have had a hard time of it in the mines, so he is taking a break and perhaps will take a position above ground when he is well enough. In the mean time, Mrs Tuncliffe-Wilson has been kind enough to take me on in her household, as both Vicky and Sophia have gone to work at the munitions factory. Their skin has turned a most peculiar yellow colour, although both are as pretty as ever. I’m sure Vicky would love a letter from you. They work such frightfully long shifts._

_“Nearly all the boys are gone now. It feels so strange and empty without you all here. A few remain at the mine, although both Dean Halton, the Kendal lad, and a handful of others were recruited by the Royal Engineers. It seems that we have a well sought after breed of young man. We were all so proud yet sad to see them go. It reminded me so very much of your departure, my dear boy. I have to remind myself that this is not for long, although it feels like it has been a lifetime already. Everyone here is supportive of each other, as everyone understands what it is to wait on a loved one’s return, so do not worry yourself about affairs at home. Even Mrs Tuncliffe-Wilson’s son has gone, coming of age last month – perhaps you shall see him in the coming months._

_“I know that you will all do us proud, and I look forward to having you home before the year is out. My thoughts and prayers are always with you. Your loving mother.”_

As he finished and looked up, Kieren realised that Private Macy was still. Watching for a moment, Kieren noted the evenness of his breath, feeling a flicker of relief. Carefully, he refolded the letter and returned it to the envelope. Mrs Macy’s description of their home village stuck with him – it could so easily be his own, and was, really. It was what every town and village and hamlet in Great Britain was like – their young men spirited away to fuel the war machine, leaving mothers, fathers, siblings, and lovers to wait and hope for their safe return. For a moment, Kieren couldn’t help the dreadful notion that this was endless, and that young boys would grow up only to be turned into ghosts, their bodies borne away while their spirits remained in places they’d once cherished in their childhood. How many disembodied hearts already clung to alleyways and copses as the young men themselves lay in foreign fields?

Looking at Private Macy, Kieren tried not to allow his feelings to overcome him. He didn’t think any of it was fair, but at the end of the day he knew that there was nothing he could do to fight the tide. He just had to go with it, as everyone else did, and hope to stay afloat.

The collar of Macy’s shirt was rumpled. For some reason, Kieren felt unable to leave it. Returning the letter to the drawer, he gently reached over, righting the fabric in a gesture that was ridiculously sentimental in a way he couldn’t quite explain. The letter shouldn’t have changed anything, but it was a glimpse into a life – so many lives – that may soon be at an end, and he was powerless to do anything about it. The only difference he could make was to those who came under his care.

And even then, what little could he offer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tuncliffe-Wilson is Shirley's name in the In The Flesh script.
> 
> Rick's number is made up, based on my great-great uncle's (11053 L/Cpl H. L. Shaplin MM).
> 
> The Royal Engineers recruited miners from around the country to dig tunnels towards and under enemy lines during WWI. This was incredibly dangerous work, and had to be done in complete silence. There was the continual danger of gas, poor air, tunnel collapse, flooding, and, of course, the enemy. If you heard the enemy, you lay explosives, waited until they were close enough, and blew them up. If you'd planned well, you'd set a second explosion, because the thing about the tunnellers on both sides was that they would try to rescue their comrades.
> 
> To quote Baldrick: "Hear the words I sing / War's a horrid thing, / So I sing sing sing... / ...ding-a-ling-a-ling."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't read over it, so... heh. Good luck reading this.
> 
> For chapter content warnings, please see the note at the end of the chapter

Kieren was just on his way back to his tent, planning how to pass the two hours until his shift, when the signal to fall in was given.

Startled, he’d taken a moment to decide what to do with the wash things he still held, and then hastily rushed towards the tent, dropping the bag on the bed and grabbing his white tunic. He all but ran to the hospital entrance, where everyone was rushing to meet the convoy. Major Greene was bellowing instructions, his voice only just audible over the noise of the vehicles arriving.

“You, you and you – theatre. You five, triage. You lot, stretchers.”

Having been given a task to do, Kieren didn't wait around to hear anything more. He approached the rear of one of the vehicles just as the tailgate fell open, and an orderly almost immediately half-fell out.

“Give us a hand,” he urged, already trying to shift one of the two stretchers lying in the back of the truck. Kieren grasped at one of the handles without thinking, helping to move the heavy weight, and at his side the orderly grunted, straining. Another pair of hands joined in, and the stretcher came free, exposing its cargo to the daylight. The fetid smell diffusing from the back of the truck clung thickly to the injured man, who was filthy with dirt and blood, his once khaki uniform lost beneath the grime.

“Where to?” Kieren asked, trying not to focus on the young man, who was unconscious and deathly pale. A heavy bandage around his upper leg oozed red, and it made Kieren feel dizzy when he caught sight of it, a jolt of nausea hitting him.

“Triage room. Place him then come back for the next.”

Barely nodding, Kieren made sure that the other man helping to bear the load was ready, and set off towards the tented triage area, focusing on shutting his mind down and not stumbling. The guy they were carrying was heavy, but the adrenaline causing Kieren to almost tremble helped him to bear the load – it was his own feet he was more afraid of, as well as the atmosphere: the loud noise of vehicles, shouted orders, and cries and moans of discomfort from the injured men. He didn’t want to stumble at the first hurdle.

Reaching the tent, Kieren and the other orderly placed their load where a Nursing Sister indicated, at the far end of the tent. As they left, three more stretchers were being brought in and placed, the men lying on them in poor condition. Kieren’s jaw clenched at the mess of dirt and blood he saw, and he tried not to think about it as he went back to the convoy. His hands were shaking noticeably, and he quickly grasped at the next stretcher to hide it.

-

It took nearly two hours to unload the injured being brought to the hospital gates. It was obvious that those who arrived first were priority, with the walking wounded following after, but it was the last wagon to arrive that left Kieren feeling completely numb. The adrenaline had worn off long ago, and the work had been exhausting, but he had never before felt as weary as he did bearing bodies of the men who hadn’t made it.

-

There was no opportunity for a break. As soon as he was done, Kieren was directed to one of the tents in the hospital grounds, where he was told to help clean and redress wounds. He found it hard to open his mouth, and went about the task mutely, peeling away dirty bandages saturated with blood and applying new ones to each man in turn. All of the men had been seen to at a casualty clearing station before arriving at the hospital, but for some the journey had taken its toll, and several wounds were clearly infected, the offensive smell of gangrenous flesh assaulting Kieren as he peeled away the layers of soiled linen. He worked with his eyes down, fixed on what he was doing, afraid to notice more than he had to. He tried to detach what he was seeing and doing from the sights and sounds and smells around him, but with each passing minute it became harder and harder, not easier, until he suddenly couldn’t continue. Coming to the next patient, he stopped and simply stared at the space where a lower leg should be, too stunned to do anything. There was nothing there. It was gone.

Kieren felt himself pale, his eyes transfixed on where the leg ended in a bloody bandage, and he swayed a little. Exhaling sharply, stunned, he closed his eyes and realised too late that they were stinging with tears. He couldn’t brush them away in time. He didn’t know how to process what was happening around him, and even without seeing he could hear the chaos around him – men moaning in pain and discomfort, nurses and orderlies tending to their wounds, and the doctor who had come to evaluate those who might need surgery slowly making his way from one end of the ward to another – and smell the stale bodies, sweat, mud, gangrene and the metallic scent of blood. There was no way to shut it out, or escape it, no matter how desperately Kieren needed to. He didn’t know how to cope. He didn’t know how to deal with the fact that people had done this to each other, and were still trying to do this to each other until one side was more hurt and bloodied and broken than the other and gave in.

Slowly opening his eyes again, Kieren fought the urge to run. It was deep and instinctive, but his mind overrode the compulsion. No matter where he went, he couldn’t escape this. He took a stand now, or he fled and was shot for cowardice. And being dead wouldn’t change anything. Being dead wouldn’t help anyone – not his friends, not his family, and certainly not the young man looking up at him with clear blue eyes wide and so very afraid. He’d just witnessed an intimate moment of weakness, and Kieren was determined to show strength to make up for it.

Stepping closer, he placed the bandages he was holding to the side and leant down to see to the wound. Wiping his cheeks on his shoulders, Kieren felt something of his former self falling away, a layer that has slowly crystallized on his skin in the last few months shattering. He was still afraid. He was unskilled, and he didn’t understand a thing about the world, but he would try.

Carefully removing the bloody bandages, Kieren inspected the wound. It was raw and angry, but neatly sutured and, mercifully, clean. Kieren gave a small sigh of relief and met the injured man’s gaze openly.

“There’s no sign of infection,” he said gently, letting the news sink in. “You should be fine.”

The young guy nodded tersely, looking completely exhausted as he let his head fall heavily to the pillow he’d raised it from, no doubt trying to watch what Kieren was doing. The relief was evident.

“I’m just going to apply a clean dressing,” Kieren continued, getting on with the task gently but firmly. He didn’t feel particularly adept, but did the best he possibly could, securing the bandage and then gathering up the soiled dressing. He hesitated for a moment, looking at the pale young man.

“Do you need anything for the pain?”

The guy shook his head, throat moving in an attempt to speak. His voice was barely there. “No, thank you.”

Kieren gave a nod in acknowledgement, wondering if that was the honest answer, but there was nothing more he could do. Taking a few steps back, he turned and went to add the soiled bandages to the growing pile, wash his hands, and move on to the next patient.

It didn’t feel like the task had gotten easier, but Kieren found the strength to face it. Instead of zeroing in on the injury – or injuries – he saw the whole person. He saw their discomfort and pain, their embarrassment at the situation they found themselves in, and their relief as he greeted them with whatever smile he could muster. Inside, something was breaking with each passing minute, but resolve Kieren didn’t realise he had hardened. His best wasn’t much, but it was all he had to give, so he gave it, because each man deserved no less from him.

-

It was long into the night before Kieren got his first real break and could do more than relieve himself and hurriedly knock back a drink. He felt half dead as he dragged himself to the kitchens, knowing he had to eat something but not quite feeling motivated to. A warm tin of vegetables, gravy, and salted beef was pressed into his hand, and somehow Kieren made it to a table, the habitual action of transferring food from plate to mouth difficult.

“Try this.”

Kieren’s head felt heavy as he tried to raise it to see who had spoken. Peter was sliding into the seat opposite him, pushing a mug across the table. Kieren recognised the smell, but had never actually tasted coffee before. Slowly, he reached for it, not sure if the smell was appetising or not. Tentatively, he tried it, and instantly pulled a face at the bitterness.

“It’s good at helping wake you up,” Peter explained, tucking into his own food. He was clearly tired, but didn’t look as exhausted as Kieren felt.

“Thanks,” Kieren sighed, unable to muster more than one word. The tiredness he felt wasn’t just in his bones, but in his heart. Some of the things he’d seen were too much to cope with, and he needed to sleep to put some distance between himself and what had happened so that he could try to put the events in context, or at least leave them behind. No amount of training could have prepared him for the realities of war and what it would bring. Knowing and experiencing were two completely different things.

“I think things are settling down now,” Peter said. “I think I’ll be sent back to the chapel ward.”

Kieren gave a slight nod, realising how their situation was reversed from just a few nights ago – now he was the pale, weary one, while Peter was very much holding his own. At least the lie that things got better might be true. That, or coping got easier.

“I have to go back to the operating theatre,” Kieren offered, finding his own voice oddly flat and listless to his own ears. He pressed his fork into a piece of potato, fixated on the way the metal sunk into the flesh. Was that was it was like to do it to another human being? Is that how easily some of those men had been pierced and torn apart?

“Are you assisting?” Peter asked, a little surprised. Kieren shook his head.

“No, just fetching and carrying.”

His lips pressed firmly together as he held back the next thought, his stomach oddly quiescent despite the barbarity of it. Slowly, he opened his mouth, putting food in, and made himself chew and swallow, feeling detached from the world around him.

“The amputations are the worst,” he admitted. “They go in mostly whole, and come out...”

Kieren wasn’t looking, but was aware of Peter nodding understandingly as he started speak. “There’s this guy on the ward. Apparently it started off just the foot, then the lower leg, then the whole leg. It seems like they caught it in time last time, but still...”

Kieren fed himself another mouthful, barely reacting. He didn’t know how to respond. Some things were too overwhelming to face. As he swallowed, he reached for the bitter coffee again, figuring it the taste might improve once he got used to it.

“Better to do it sooner rather than later,” Peter concluded.

Or better yet, to never have to do it at all, Kieren thought darkly, wondering how anyone anywhere could think that war was justifiable. There were eight bodies laid out in a cold dimly lit room, waiting for graves to be dug and the chaplain to inter them come morning. There were several more young men who might not see out the night, and a few hundred lying sick and wounded in No. 10 Stationary alone. How many more would be wounded and killed before it all ended? How many of the thousands of men out there would never see home again? How many young men of his own age would Kieren have to be strong for and try to help when, really, he was powerless?

Kieren wondered how many people in power would still support war if they had to carry those bodies themselves, or had to dig the graves and say the final blessings over men they’d sent to die.

-

Kieren collapsed on his bed gratefully. He’d barely managed to wash, comb for lice, and change, before his eyes became too heavy to keep open. The coffee had helped a little, but had completely worn off an hour or so ago. It was a warm, sunny spring day already, and Kieren was aware of the daylight though the fragile skin of his eyelids. In his hand he held a letter from home, but he was too exhausted to try and read it. Clumsily, he reached for his bedside table, managing to place the letter without upsetting his canteen of water. It would be news from home dated the day he left for France, and Kieren kept his fingers on the envelope, focusing on the feel of it and the words it might contain. In the warmth and light, it was easy to imagine home and leave the night behind him, falling into a deep sleep.

When he woke, Kieren was unbelievably sore. His feet still dimly ached from having been on them for fifteen hours straight, but the worst pain was in his arms and shoulders. His neck felt unmoveable, and the tension was painful when he tried to prod his fingers into the abused muscles to relax and ease them. Despite having slept well enough, Kieren’s first thoughts were of the previous night, and he suddenly felt exhausted again.

Struggling to dig out his pocket watch, Kieren realised he’d only slept four and a half hours. It made him feel a little better about the exhaustion, but he wasn’t sure he could sleep again. His mind was dragging through the events of last night, picking out fragments in acute detail, and it made Kieren feel restless. He rolled over, shutting his eyes, and then abruptly opened them, startled by what he saw. It wasn’t a memory, but an amalgamation of two – the blue eyed amputee staring up at him, and the corpse of a young man who had succumbed to his wounds on the operating table and whose bloody body had been hastily covered with a thin sheet before being borne away.

Turning back over, Kieren reached for the letter from home – for something far removed from the hospital and last night’s events. Lying on his back, he slowly opened it, pulling out two pages. He recognised Jem’s hand on one, and his mother’s far neater on the other. He read his mother’s first.

It was dated five days ago, and addressed nothing of great importance in the grand scheme of things, but each detail was significant to Kieren. He clung to each word, feeling increasingly homesick as he read. He did nothing to stop the tears that escaped as he lay there slowly taking in the news from home. His mum wrote of the weather, hoping that the strong winds which had been blowing since the previous night didn’t reach the Channel, and that Kieren had a safe crossing. She mentioned the pheasant they’d been lucky enough to have for dinner the previous night, in celebration of Kieren’s mobilisation to France, and that they’d drank to his health, safe journey and swift return. Kieren could imagine the dinner in minute detail, everything of the dining area coming to mind. It pushed out memories of broken and bloodied men, and for a few minutes Kieren lost himself to the details of home, and the smells and sights that were so familiar he needed a mere suggestion to remember them.

His mum also wrote that his dad had been promoted, and was now in charge of the railway station. The position came with a handsome new uniform and an increased salary, and Kieren could easily imagine his dad in at the station master’s post, rather than on the trains themselves. His dad had always loved the railway, and had hoped that his son would follow in his footsteps. Kieren might have done, but the coal dust was bad for his lungs. His dad had had to settle for regular trips to Morecambe with his family, his excitement clearly in sharing his knowledge of engines rather than the delights of the beach and rock pools. Kieren wished he’d listened to more of what his father had to say.

While his mum’s letter had been very even and steady with her accounts of family and village business since Kieren had last been home, Jem’s was more emotive. She both loved and despaired over her new job – heavy crates were far more preferable to dealing with old Mrs Lamb and her finicky requests. It made Kieren snort in laughter, remembering the fussy old woman and her alarming attitude whenever he’d tried to explain that they simply did not have any of a particular item available. It invariably ended with Mrs Lamb kicking up a fuss and Mr Burton placating her with something else, which Kieren thought only encouraged the difficult behaviour, but it wasn’t his shop, so he’d always fumed quietly behind a placating smile. No longer the shy, uncertain girl she used to be, Jem was of a much quicker temperament than himself, and Kieren wondered how long it would be before she snapped and gave Mrs Lamb a piece of her mind. He wanted to go home just to witness it.

Smiling slightly to himself, Kieren folded both letters carefully back into the envelope when he finished them, tucking it safely away amongst his things. Jem’s parting words had been a threat not to come home before Mr Burton had a chance to grow fond of her, because, despite the annoying customers, Jem was partial to the treacle toffee sold at the shop he let her have a piece of at the end of each week. Kieren didn’t think her job would be under threat for some time yet, and the thought made him desperately sad – he wanted nothing more than to be able to go home.

Sighing, Kieren looked over at Peter’s bed where his friend – he supposed they were friends now – was sleeping soundly. Kieren envied him. There was too much on his mind to expect to be able to fall asleep again, so Kieren simply lay there, focusing on breathing slowly as he thought about home, and about the convoy that had arrived last night. He wondered how the men were doing now, and how far into the day the doctors had been performing surgeries. It was easier not to close his eyes, but they were sore from tiredness and eventually Kieren gave in. The more he fought to avoid remembering, the harder it was, so he let the memories replay as they wanted, hoping that by letting them run their course they would fade. It seemed to work, until Kieren sat bolt upright, startled from sleep he hadn’t even realised he’d entered. He was breathing heavily, his heart beating wildly in his chest and a cold sweat clinging to his skin as he struggled to escape from the nightmare. His hands went to his chest, touching clammy skin and coming away to check that there was no blood there; that there was no fatal wound which had seen him carry himself to the mortuary.

Shaking slightly, but a little more in control of his breathing, Kieren looked around the tent and listened to the wind disturbing the canvas, and soft breathing and snores of his fellow orderlies. He guessed that not much time had passed, and carefully slid from bed, dressing and making his way from the tent towards the wash area. He didn’t want to stay in bed.

Kieren wasn’t sure what compelled him, but after cleaning himself, he made his way to the hospital building, picking his way along the corridors towards the mortuary. He hadn’t felt afraid of it last night, but nervousness tightened in his stomach as he approached the ominous door. In truth it was nondescript, and it was only his knowledge of what lay beyond gave it the power to unsettle him. Which was stupid, Kieren knew. As a child he’d been fearful of confined spaces, until, with the patient help of his mother, he’d gradually exposed himself to them and learnt that there was nothing to fear. This felt like the same thing, only this time he had to face it alone.

Pushing the heavy door open, Kieren entered the cool room for the ninth time in less than a day. It felt different from last night, and looked different too. It was better lit, and there were just three bodies laid out. A Staff Nurse looked up from where she stood over one of the men, clearly as surprised to find Kieren there as he was to find her.

“Can I help?” she asked a little uncertainly.

Kieren wasn’t sure what to say. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He closed it again, and shrugged, moving into the room. The Nurse looked young for her station, her skin clear and pale, with attractive high cheekbones and kind eyes that offered none of the hostility Kieren expected. Clearly deeming Kieren not to be a threat, she turned her attention back to the body she was seeing to. Behind her, Kieren noticed a basin, sponges and towels, and realised what she was doing.

“Can I help?”

She looked up again, considering him. After a moment, she nodded. Kieren approached slowly, drawing alongside and helping her to unfasten the young man’s uniform. Together, they washed his skin clean of blood and dirt, before redressing him in his own tattered uniform and arranging his arms across his chest in a respectful pose. He looked as if he were sleeping, Kieren thought. You’d have to look closely to notice that the wounded chest no longer rose and fell with breath, or feel carefully to notice the absence of a pulse. The body wasn’t even cold yet, and as the nurse moved the thin blanket up over him, Kieren didn’t feel like his face should have been covered.

Silently, they moved onto the next. This young man was a lieutenant, and had suffered a head wound. His body was otherwise unmarred. Kieren’s movements were careful and gentle as he worked, but before the officer’s uniform was restored to him, he took a cloth and worked the dirt from the filthy cuffs. He did the best he could with the blood soaked epaulettes, leaving the brass symbols of the officer’s rank clean and visible. The nurse watched him as he worked, having finished combing the lieutenant’s hair to tease out the dried blood that had matted it, and when Kieren was satisfied, she helped him work the jacket back into place.

The last of the corpses was the most difficult. There wasn’t much left of the man’s uniform, which hung in tatters from his body, and there was even less left of his limbs. One had been amputated above the knee, another close to the top of the leg, and one arm had been severed below the elbow. There were shrapnel wounds to the chest. Each injury alone Kieren could imagine claiming the man’s life, and he wondered how the guy had managed to make it this far before succumbing to his wounds.

Both he and the nurse did what they could to make him presentable, but found that the wounded arm refused to stay across the man’s chest. Improvising, the nurse took one of the tattered ends of the sleeve and tucked it between the buttons in the centre of the jacket. It worked. When they gently covered his body with the stained sheet already with him, Kieren couldn’t help thinking how sad the deformed shape beneath the cotton looked. Parts of the young man were strewn God knew where across the distance between the front line and the hospital. He’d never be whole again, but perhaps now he’d be at peace. Kieren found that it helped to have done something, however small the act might have been.

There was nothing left to do. Fetching the used cloths and towels, Kieren followed the Nurse, who had taken the heavy basin rather than leaving the task to Kieren. She led the way, and it was only after she’d emptied the basin and held it out for the dirty bundle Kieren carried that the silence between them was broken.

“Thanks,” she said. It seemed like she was content to complete the task herself.

“I can manage,” he insisted. They fell in step, Kieren looking down at the ground as he walked, chewing his lip before he felt like he could speak again. “Will they be buried today?”

“By this evening, I should think.”

He nodded, glad that they wouldn’t have to lie there for too long, waiting to be properly lain to rest.

“Did you want to attend?”

Kieren shook his head. “No, I think I’ve done my bit,” he explained. “Besides, my shift starts soon.”

“I didn’t realise,” the Nurse said, halting and looking up at Kieren. She really did look too young to be in France. “I can see to this.”

“Are you sure?”

The nurse smiled. “I’m not as delicate as I look.”

Kieren smiled back, a little unsure of himself as he relinquished his bundle. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”

“Go enjoy a nice hot cup of tea,” the young woman encouraged, readjusting the weight she was holding. “Private...?”

“Walker. Kieren Walker.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said quite politely, but with a hint of a mischievous smile. “I’m Staff Nurse Amy Dyer. Which wards are you assigned to?”

“For now, just the trench fever ward.”

Nurse Dyer nodded. “Perhaps we’ll run into each other again soon.”

“Perhaps,” Kieren agreed. “Uh, I, um...” With nothing more to do or say, he was conscious of the fact that he was keeping her. Gesturing vaguely in the opposite direction, he turned a little. “I should go.”

“Okay, Kieren Walker,” Nurse Dyer said, sounding very much like she was enjoying testing the sound of Kieren’s name. “Thank you for your help.”

“And you.”

Nurse Dyer gave a small smile, and then walked brusquely off. She turned after a few yards, catching Kieren looking after her. Hastily, he turned away, deciding to try and eat something before his shift. He needed to wash his hands, and was almost pleased to run into Peter. His mind had been mercifully calm since he’d helped Nurse Dyer in the mortuary, as if tending to the dead men had helped him deal with his own unease about last night. Everything had been put into place as best as it could be.

“I wondered where you’d gone,” Peter greeted.

“Good morning to you too,” Kieren teased.

“You had a letter from home. Nothing bad I hope?”

Kieren shook his head as they walked towards the kitchens. “Just the usual. Made me feel a bit homesick. I went for a walk after I got up.”

Peter clearly wanted to ask something, but held back. Kieren could guess what it was, and gave a wry smile. “It’s easier once you’ve had some rest, isn’t it?”

Peter seemed relieved. “Yeah, it is. I mean, it’s not great or anything, but it’s easier to face when you’re well rested. Although well fed it still up for debate.”

“Especially with this stuff,” Kieren whispered in a low voice as they approached the vats of food being dished up. It was broth again. Really, the food wasn’t so bad, but it came nowhere close to home cooking.

Seeing that no one was paying close attention, Kieren helped himself to two of the rolls laid out for them, realising as he smelt and saw the food just how hungry he was. Peter stifled an alarmed noise, and then did exactly the same thing. The two of them, trying not to look guilty, shuffled towards the furthest corner and sat down, huddling over their filched bread and trying not to laugh. Kieren felt infinitely better.

“I can’t believe we just did that!” he breathed.

“’We’? You started it!” Peter countered. “If they Court Martial us, I’m dropping you right in it!”

“Some loyal friend you are.”

“Never said I was anything of the sort.”

Grinning, the two of them hastily devoured their stolen bread, not even needing to dip it into the thin stew as, amazingly, the bread was fresh. Once they’d eaten the evidence, they both relaxed, taking their time with the remaining roll and stew. They talked a little about home as they ate – Peter had three younger sisters, as well as two brothers, although it seemed from his lack of mention of a father that his dad was absent, or not well thought of. He was much happier to listen to Kieren talk, so Kieren talked, telling Peter about Roarton, about his family, and anything else Peter asked about. He seemed taken with Jem, defending her when Kieren described her as a terror.

By the time they left the canteen to start their shift, Kieren was in a much better mood. Everything that had happened last night and after waking up was still with him, but the memories weren’t intrusive. As he put his clean uniform on, he knew it didn’t do to dwell on the past, or even worry about what the day would bring. All he could do was deal with what he was given, as best he possibly could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: blood, wounds, amputations (already happened, process not described), death... uhm... I really suck at knowing what to warn for, please let me know [on tumblr](http://theundeadsiren.tumblr.com/ask) if you'd like me to flag any content for you.

**Author's Note:**

> If I ever fail to finish this, you can send me a message on tumblr and I'll type up a synopsis of the rest of the fic as, for once, I know the ending and all the steps to get there. It's just a matter of motivation and willingness to immerse myself in a topic that is deeply horrifying.


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